Page 33 of Pray for the Damned

“I’m really sorry,” Joe says.

“It’s okay.” I force a smile to my lips and reach for the broom, wincing at the tug in my side.

“I’ve got this,” Terry tells me.

“Thank you.” I smile gratefully and head toward the locker room. I guess the decision was taken from me before I could make it. I just hope things pan out at the Scarlet Lounge, otherwise I’m fucked.

Once I have my bag and I’ve thrown most of the contents of my locker into it, I head out the back way, not wanting to face any of my colleagues or customers after Denise made such a show of firing me.

The warm afternoon air hits me straight away, and I dab at the cuts on my arms with the paper towel I swiped from the break room as I walk.

“What the fuck happened?” a familiar voice demands, and I flick my eyes up to meet familiar inky pools.

“Emmett? What are you doing here?” Heat hits my cheeks that he’s caught me looking like such a mess, but it pretty much tracks with my luck in general.

“I came to see you,” he says, his brows tugging together. “Are you okay?”

I track his eyes to where they’re locked on the cuts covering my arms. “Yeah, totally fine. I just had an accident. I’ll clean up once I get home.”

Without warning, I find myself scooped up into strong arms, and he carries me along the sidewalk to his familiar sedan.

“Emmett?”

“You need a hospital.”

“No, I don’t.” I shake my head, panic slamming into me. I just got fired, I certainly can’t afford any medical bills right now, and definitely not just for some cuts and bruises.

“Yes, you do. I’m taking you to urgent care.”

I shove at his shoulder. “No hospitals,” I growl. I tend to avoid official government buildings at all costs anyway. I may have changed my name, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t be tracked here. I manage to fly under the radar and remain hidden because I’m smart about where I go and who I speak to. Walking my ass into a hospital is absolutely not an option. Not if I want to stay in New York.

He stares down at me for a long moment before checking the time on his watch. “Fine. I’ll take you to Elias. He was a medic with the SEALs.”

I’m about to argue when he slips me into the passenger seat of his car and secures my seat belt. His warmth is more addictive than I care to admit, and as soon as he pulls away, I miss his comforting scent.

Yeah. I knew things were going too well for me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EMMETT

Ididn’t anticipate how my entire being would react to Waverly being hurt.

Over the years she’s had a cold here or a few cuts and bruises there, but by the time I’ve seen them, she’s well and truly taken care of herself.

That is not the case here, and the part of me I thought I’d buried long ago is wild with the need to care for her.

She needs to go to the hospital, but I understand why she wants to avoid it. I’ll have Elias look her over, and if he says she has to go, then she’ll be going, regardless of the arguments that are probably going to pour out of her.

I sent off a message to Elias as soon as I had her clipped into the passenger seat, and he confirmed he was already in his office at the club. Now that he and Wyatt are married, they tend to work more during the day and leave the actual operations of the club to their managers, allowing them to be home at night with Leighton.

It takes the whole drive for me to get myself under control, even if I am still flicking my eyes over to Waverly every twenty seconds to make sure she’s okay as I pull into the parking lot.

I’m out of the car the second the engine shuts off, rounding the hood just in time for her to shove the door open, but before she can slip out of the car, I lift her into my arms and settle her against my chest. She feels too fucking good, and I try to shove down the demanding voice in the back of my head screaming at me to take her home where I can have her in my arms any damn time I please.

All the lights throughout the club are on, giving the usually moody space a whole different life as the cleaners get the place ready to open tonight. I don’t envy their job, that’s for damn sure.

“I can walk,” Waverly grumbles.

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